I don’t know who makes the schedule at work…ok I do know but I do not know what they were thinking on this one.
My husband, a handsome young chap, snagged a shift. It was just him and one older gentleman who always makes us chuckle with his borderline senile comments and odd sense of humor.
So, there the two men stood, in their tuxs, ready for a night of dishing out five star quality service.
While setting up in a smaller ballroom, they learned it was going to be a birthday party.
Oh how nice…it was a smaller function, probably low key. They wouldn’t have to tune out the wedding band blaring yet another version of Justin T-Lakes Sexy Back in their ears for the thousandth time.
So, they stood at attention, ready to serve, and the guests started piling it.
Hmm….something is interesting about these guests. They are all men, they are all wearing expensive tuxedos, Italian shoes and look impeccably groomed with foofy nice hair, Prada black framed glasses, pearly whites and bright colored ties.
And…where are all the Gucci gowned lip injected women? Absent.
My husband began overhearing the conversations….it drifted from exchanging passions for Elton John to a bits of:
-Oh my gosh where did you get that pocket square!
They…were all gay.
A whole birthday party of homosexual middle aged men, and my young stunning husband right in the middle of them as their source of eye candy. I won’t add another awkward turtle link….but I will throw out the term again. Awkward turtle. (please see previous post: Beware: Jealous Wives Have Happy Hands.)
My husband felt like a raw chicken thrown in a tank of sharks.
Or a single picture of a young Brittany Spears on the wall at an all boys juvenile delinquent center.
Or a renegade Twinkie discovered at a fat camp.
Of all the servers we had to choose from…they picked the young stud to serve the party of men on the prowl for some Brokeback love.
Irony? Or the hotels planned out scheme to make every shift as weird as possible….hmmmm. Option 2.